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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384957">Don't Turn Your Back On Me, Baby</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereforThis/pseuds/HereforThis'>HereforThis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Anarki [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Angst and Feels, M/M, Suicide, again with side OCs, but it's side OCs not MC, demonic violence, if need be I can tag other things, part three, there’s some gender stuff because WKM is canon here, they're both stubborn asses and they don't get over it until next part</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:26:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereforThis/pseuds/HereforThis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They're honestly too stubborn to be content as things are. Underlying issues break forth in smaller avenues. It's hard to push the limits when the limits are assumed. Dark and Anti being a power couple until they can't avoid their pride. Part 3/4</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danti, Darkiplier/Antisepticeye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Anarki [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fraternize</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title of the fic from Santana's Black Magic Woman. <br/>So...the original document with Anarki, All or Nothing, this, and part four...originally wasn't in parts. It's a chronological 150 page side project I filled in when I had time. I know people liked the first two, and I don't want to go downhill from there, but there's also a possibility this is good too, you never know unless you try.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The last month or so have been hell in Brighton. Jack’s seriously thinking about taking a break from YouTube soon. There’s organizing the upcoming tour (Tour!! Cool!! Much organize!!), the promised two videos a day to keep up with, charity streams, and just...life to live, bros. Friends to see, a girlfriend to chill with, groceries to get. YouTube is doing whatever the hell with the ads and the new systems and it drives him nuts. Well, that wouldn’t be make-or-break on it’s own. Combined with constant pressure from a certain ego, it’s getting difficult to keep the PMA going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mark is still happily oblivious to Anti’s reappearance. Jack intends to keep it that way. Knowing what Anti and Dark get up to in their spare time haunts him in his sleep (when he gets it). Things that make him dread those few days of control for more reasons than one. That make him simultaneously want to hold Evelyn tighter and leave her for her own safety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was a coping mechanism disguised as an homage to their fandoms, but Mark had this brilliant idea to make a joke video about their demons. In typical Markiplier fashion, it expanded and became more ridiculous as time went on. He took equipment to his hotel room during VidCon just to grab other YouTubers in on it, there was a green screen room he and Jack went to later...anyways, he decided that the best course of action was to make a running joke about all YouTubers having evil egos. It ended with Chica eating all the demons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti was not entertained when the video came out. Jack doesn’t know where Dark stands on it. Frankly, that’s Mark’s problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the now unpredictable demon popping up, changing titles on the channel and threatening him and the rest of the egos, Jack had fun making it. It felt like he was fighting back. And oh god, Mark trying to be suave and insulting was a train wreck. The intense eye contact set them both giggling their asses off. That may be the same body Dark uses, but Mark wears it so differently. Every time Mark said something sexual (which was horrifically often, come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <span>dude,) he couldn’t quite match the laughter afterwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For privacy, Mark had Dark out tracking something and Jack ‘accidentally’ left a few videos in his computer for Anti to play with. They had a few conversations on what to do if April ever happened again: don’t look Dark in the eye when challenged, don’t promise him anything, and don’t act scared shitless, the same went for Glitch Bitch. Anti was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>not entertained about that exchange when he saw that memory. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was also excess backlash in the month following the video. Chase came back and told everyone Anti left to go deal with something a song lyric demon told him about. He was gone for a few days. Jack didn’t know whether to hope or to brace himself. When Anti came back, it was visits in videos and scratches down walls. He asked him what his fucking problem was. Mistakes were made, that being the first. The anger has lowered to a steady simmer since then, but it still leaves them always one step from a fight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That leaves Sean with a music box playlist, an increased caffeine intake, and a shorter than normal fuse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He listens to the playlist with headphones, lounging on the couch with Evelyn’s feet on his lap as she reads. Sleep has dogged his every step, but he hasn’t given in yet. Ev asked him earlier out of curiosity and concern how many hours he got. He lied and said five. She let it go. Others might have blamed the caffeine, but she knows it’s basically water to him by now. Tumblr has quieted down about the video, finally. He scrolls through his dash with heavy lids. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cool art, such meme, what a mood. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The soft chiming notes try to lull his eyes closed. He doesn’t know whether it’s the frequency of the high rings or the soothing melodies, but they subdue Anti like nothing else he knows. So he listens, snapping his head up once in a while. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sleep is for the weak.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Good ol’ Jackieboy keeps him up with a nudge every now and then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Come on Jack, what’s that animation?</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Hey, that’s pretty funny!</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>D’you wanna watch Chase try to sink the die in Marvin’s smaller container? 58th time’s the charm!</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>About the eighteenth time Sean starts nodding off, Jackieboy doesn’t provide a nudge. Anti’s been quiet, although no one will risk a peek in. Chase refuses to be interrupted, Schneep values his life, Jameson is still in the metaphorical works, and Marvin tried a disappearing trick and hasn’t yet reappeared. If he can let Jack sleep now, he’ll be awake enough to resist Anti later when Anti’s up. He just has to make sure Anti isn’t awake </span>
  <em>
    <span>now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Ev reads and Jack reblogs, Jackieboy sneaks to the last door in the hall. Chase stops tossing to watch with wide eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you crazy? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mouths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I just need to check, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mouths back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But why though? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chase throws his hands up in exaggerated confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jack’s almost asleep, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mimes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>More coffee?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s like, eight cups in!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But Anti hates you!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I know. But I have to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chase has nothing to say to that but a look to the ceiling and his hand over his face. He stalks over without another word, pushing past Jackieboy to the door. When Jackieboy leans to intervene, he’s met by a palm holding him back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, Chase opens the door a slit, leaning far away from the opening. Enough blades have whipped out of the room at him for caution to be cool. Nothing flies out. Jackieboy hangs over his shoulder, hood up and ready for battle. Chase prods him back a step, secures his hat, and opens the door enough to take a sidestep in. Back to the wall strafing is the best method to approach an unaware Anti, especially one that’s been repressed for...oh lord how long has it been?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>19 days, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sean thinks, a hint of pride and a buttload of exhaustion coating the thought. Jackieboy makes a mental note (because what other kinds of notes can he make?) to update the Incident Report Whiteboard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two egos peer into the room, dimly lit by Anti’s aura. The glitch is on his side, passed out on top of his covers. His usual glow runs weakly under his skin. Fresh scratches tally the walls, making it look like a fucking mental institution (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chase thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this whole place is a mental institution,</span>
  </em>
  <span>) making it look like a fucking asylum. Jack has kept him locked tight and the egos are safe because of it. But the way Anti’s curled up, the absolute fatigue written in the lay of his arm, leading to where his knife lies abandoned on the floor like nothing, the 19 jagged wall lacerations that look fresher than the others...Jackieboy still looks at him in disdain, but Chase can’t bring himself to. He and the others don’t rely on being out as much as Anti’s essence does. Therein lies the dilemma; one has to be imprisoned here for the other to be free. He leans further in, checking for any glowing eyes. Nope. Anti’s out. From here, actually, it looks like he hadn’t been reaching for his knife, but for someone else. The thought hurts his heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chase dips his head at Jackieboy in a clear </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s go </span>
  </em>
  <span>gesture. Reluctantly, Jackieboy backs up to let Sean know he can sleep. The cosmos disagree and roll a critical fail. Chase’s phone rings in his pocket. Anti disappears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sean jerks awake again, startling Evelyn from her novel. “You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack rips the earbuds out, rocking forward with a splitting headache. Head in his hands, he tries to figure out exactly what’s going on. Is he okay? He feels a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, it’s another blue-eyed boy with a backwards cap. Then it’s Ev. But it all feels suffocating. Closed in walls and crowding faces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Ev says, eyes fixed on his as she scootches to his side. He can’t focus on her too long; the world looks drunk. “You’ve been fighting too much.” She sighs, tracing reassuring circles on his arm. “Relax, sh, relax.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need a day out,” he says, but that isn’t right. He never told himself to talk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him an understanding look. He hates it and loves it at the same time. “I’ll reschedule tomorrow. Right now, you need to sleep. You’ve been practically falling over all day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His teeth bite his cheek. “He deserves it, the prick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes another look. For someone holding an angry demon, she seems quite calm. Maybe he’s desensitized her by now. “Let me talk to him, Anti. He needs to stop being so stubborn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not stubborn,” Jack mutters. Surprisingly, he mutters it in reality. Evelyn levels her gaze right at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to have to make it up to him sometime,” she says. “Neither of you do well in captivity. Maybe after the tour, let him out early?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ev-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no arguing. You’re splitting yourself in half like this. I gave him tomorrow because he’s been due. It’s probably not going to be enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack makes a low noise of frustration, resting his head on hers. He’s awake now, breathing her in to keep him grounded. “After the tour. For Halloween.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For Halloween,” she agrees, sighing. “Now sleep.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Conspire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dark: *canon shapeshifter<br/>Anti: oh no, I think I'm catching feelings</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here is where the first suicide occurs with an OC, one of the two chapters that contains it. So again, only proceed if you are comfortable with the material. Stay safe out there, yeah?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As promised, Jack lets Anti out a day early. He finds the egos hiding in their rooms except for an extremely pissed off Schneep who is waiting for him. Anti smiles as he reads him the reports about isolation and mental life insurance. Then he snidely imitates Jack and puts it all in the back of his mind. He stretches like a cat, cracking several joints. His favorite jeans still fit, and he puts his gauges in. The delightful smell of coffee beckons him to the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gab is grabbing her phone off the charger and heading out. She nods to the pot. “Black, like your soul.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What soul?” he replies with a smile. She rolls her eyes at him. He swipes her keys from the counter. “Forget something?” He tosses the keys to her and turns to the pot of bitter delight awaiting. Feeling her hesitate, he glances back at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s fixed him in place with a look. For a breath, they stare at each other. She’s a pretty thing, and her kindness softens her demeanor. He never wondered how she and Jack got along. After the beat, she speaks for impact. “Come back safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows what it means. Bring Jack home safe. But she never phrases it like that, whether to avoid pissing him off or for her fatal flaw of overcaring for everyone. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>talked Jack into giving in early, but it’s only logical. Keeping a demon in a prison is like a boiler building up pressure; if you don’t release the pressure, it’s going to explode (even the dude in </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Shining </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew that). So he nods. “Yeah, yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gab takes the routine response and departs. Anti sits on the counter and sips, relishing the flavor. Food always tastes ten times better when physically hosting. It’s one of the reasons control is such an innate desire. He could work out, feeling each muscle respond to his direction, another reason. He could watch movies or game, seeing and reacting first hand instead of through a lens. He could leave ridiculous things out for Sean and Gab to find in two days or change what he can on the channel before Robin notices. Instead he slips a knife in his pocket and starts searching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Months ago, he’d given Dark a cell phone. “I don’t need this,” the demon had scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not for you,” Anti replied. “It’s so I don’t have to wander in the damned Upside Down every time I want to find you. Adapt, Darkiplier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They tracked down the rest of the video demons, crossing names off a pristine and constantly updated list Dark created on his phone. Not that he used it or anything, of course not, it’s merely convenient to transfer everything, that’s all, blah blah. But Anti didn’t care whether Dark used the apps or not. He wanted to label Dark’s location with a digital trail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti finds Jack’s cell and follows that trail to Dark’s. They hadn’t scheduled meeting up until tomorrow during Halloween, but Anti isn’t planning on giving Jack control for a while. He doubts he’ll argue about it much either with the state of things. Marvin finally reappeared only to find the rest of the egos in various degrees of incapacitated. Anti lets Jack explore that site alone as he heads out. He expects to surprise Dark in California or on the borders in the middle of routine tasks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he pops up in a grand hallway in some historical building. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The fuck? </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s light piano coming from two large oak doors on the right along with the dull roar of chatter. Through a grid of glass panes, he sees high-ceilinged rooms filled with the rich and powerful in three-pieces and floor-lengths. Waitstaff stride back and forth between a door on the far left and a door on the far right with varying trays of food and alcohol. Tall windows and wood moldings line the space and it all feels very...government social. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark’s phone was in a fake plant next to a staircase. Anti doesn’t know how to feel about popping out of a ficus. Or the fact that his phone isn’t on him. But sudden anxiety spikes through him when a nearby door starts to open, because he’s in ripped jeans and Jack’s sweatshirt and oh yeah </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s also got knives. In this government building. Of yet-to-be-discovered country and status. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snatches the phone and rushes up the plush stairwell. Stilettos clack on the marble floors behind him, quieting as they grow distant. His brows scrunch together when he looks around, taking in the Americana, antiques, and continental styles. There’s a miniature sepia globe on a random table, so he spins it. Where the fuck is he and why is Dark’s phone here?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He resolves to search upstairs, if only so he doesn’t cause immediate chaos and risk Dark’s wrath. The first door is a bathroom. The second is an empty meeting room. The third is a library. They all have handy windows if he needs to escape quickly, computers evidently not a necessity in historical gala halls. Worse comes to worst, he can glitch through the phone back to Jack’s. There’s a mirror in the hall that makes him back up a few steps as he passes by. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa, no, definitely not human enough to try passing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Occupational hazard after becoming binary. He pulls in his pixels, dimming his eyes and becoming solid. Then, reluctantly, he closes his throat and rounds his ears. A little more like Jack, if Jack had a fierce older brother with heterochromia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What would his story be if he was found, or would he even bother? He doubts a twenty-something-year old can excuse himself out of an American security breach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hum of voices resonates from the left, a male and female. It sounds like they’re arguing, but he can’t tell about what. A familiar scent lingers from the old oak door. It is too thick to hear specific words, and the voices lower their volume, so he cracks it open and listens. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-can’t keep doing this,” the male is saying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have to,” the female replies in a delicate tone. “Let someone else take the burden for once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think this is something someone else can take? This is my life, I’ve done nothing but serve and serve and gotten nowhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Senator-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m done talking!” That’s when Anti hears the gun cock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he can take a good guess.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Ooh, a murder, how scandalous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He peeks through the door, pushing it open farther. A man in a suit holds a gun at a brunette in a formal gown. She’s backed against a wall. He’s facing away from Anti, hands shaking as he holds up the firearm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door makes the tiniest creaking noise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In his overemotional state the man doesn’t turn. The woman’s eyes flick towards the source. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Russet, lined eyes that shift from fearful to annoyed to resigned to pitying in a second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do it,” she says, returning to the man. Her lilting voice has stopped trembling. She isn't backed against the wall, she's leaning against it. He isn’t holding a gun at her, he’s holding it out to her. “You said it yourself, you serve and serve and get nowhere. It’s because no one cares about what you do. Your existence is inconsequential. You want to get out? Go down in history before they find out your filthy secrets?” She walks forward until she nudges the gun back at him, staring him down. “</span>
  <b>It’s the only way</b>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The senator lets out a sob. She watches. He flips the gun around and pulls the trigger, painting the ornate furniture red. The shot alerts the whole place, screams from the downstairs gala ripping through the halls. Heavy and hurried footsteps stomp towards the stairs. Anti slips into the room and shuts the door. The woman stalks right over the splattered body to him, snatching his wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They appear in the house on the borders, Dark shoving Anti onto a couch. “You weren’t supposed to be out until tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hold on. Wait a second. Rewind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa.” Anti blinks, trying not to get distracted by several new curves and glowing skin that deep purple velvet doesn’t cover. And jeez, there’s a bit of it. “You just talked a senator to death.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark arches a brow. “What, like it’s hard?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But why though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was bored, his policies annoy me, he’s a fraud who brags about manipulation tactics. Shall I go on, or will that suffice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You killed someone because you were bored.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we’ve established that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I might actually love you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought makes Anti reel. Unchanged eyes charged with ire flit over him, annoyance the only readable expression. He takes a second to process, buffering, before attempting to tackle the rest of the situation. “So what’s with the whole...?” Anti gestures to the whole...form. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark lounges on a comfy chair with a huff, slinging slender legs over the arm and sliding off black heels. The long skirt is slitted up to mid thigh, and if Anti tilts his head he can see a bit of lace. “He had a mistress. A rather convenient way of getting in. Which reminds me, did you pick up my phone on your way upstairs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti passes it, expecting an explanation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark takes it with slim, manicured fingers, not giving him one. “So the first thing you do when you get out early is pop by to interrupt my work?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot </span>
  </em>
  <span>focus on a conversation right now.” He’s too busy following a smooth collarbone up to a soft, heart-shaped face and fine features. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Full lips pull down in an indecipherable expression. “Oh? Perhaps I should change-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This makes Dark sit up. For a moment, Anti gets the impression that Dark is offended. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you change in the first place?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark uncrosses those lovely legs to face him, leaning in curiously. “Anti...Anti, have you ever changed your form from Jack’s?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, no. He can’t. He’s never had reason to anyways. “I never really cared to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe that’s another one of our differences,” Dark says. “I could never change into binary and travel through a phone. But humans? They are nothing.” As Dark speaks, his form changes from the mistress to the attorney to Mark and back again. It’s disorienting. Anti refrains from making a non-binary joke. “Whatever smooths the path into their pathetic little minds.” He smiles to himself. "It's in my DNA."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is your usual form easier for Mark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We look similar. It’s far easier for him to project his fears onto himself. Far easier to take the blame for what I’ve done and what he can’t prevent.” Dark settles back against the arm, looking Anti over. The annoyance falls to the wayside after noting Anti’s rounded edges. “You can focus on </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>conversation well enough. Answer my question.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I got bored. Wanted to see if you had time or people to kill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A low chortle. “Oh, look at those adorable ears. Were you trying to pass?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have far more to comment on.” He sidles closer, perching on the edge of the chair. The other demon sighs, reaching up to trace over his neck. Anti’s hasty disguise brushes off, the most inhuman feature reappearing on an otherwise normal figure. Dark blurs as well, color obscuring, round eyes slanting. Nothing major, just relaxing, dropping whatever distinguished the human mistress and replacing her with more quintessentially...Dark things. Paler skin, black waves, a look that promises anything but takes everything. A female Dark. It’s odd. And hot. And surprisingly not Celine (close, but not quite, in the way Mark is not quite like Dark). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti loses focus. He feels Jack glance out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What-?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuts down the connection. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Mine. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re hosting right now.” The previously bell-like voice drops to a natural sultry tone. “You really did get out early.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti winks, letting his eyes brighten. They didn't get to enjoy last year’s Halloween together because their meeting was so delayed, and he plans to make it up tomorrow. But nothing’s stopping them from starting sooner.  He prowls closer, running a hand down velvet, eyes dropping to a sweetheart top. He wants to feel everything. Each new dip and swell, the warm body permitting the exploration. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How far does this go? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fingers trace down to a tapered waist, further to defined hips. A light smack on his cheek and a ruby smirk stops him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make me stab you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You, stab me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark flashes Anti’s knives between them, resting the tips on his bottom lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How the fuck did he do that?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anti stares, the mischievous expression on the new face absolutely enchanting. “You’re incredibly easy to steal from when you're distracted. Strategy noted.” A palm presses his chest, pushing him away. His heart picks up with his thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What color is the lace?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark gets up, sauntering to the bathroom with bare feet, idly twirling the blades in each hand. Anti lets his gaze wander, drinking in each sway. Maybe this is what people mean by </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hate to see them leave, love to watch them go.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “By the way,” that voice calls over a shading shoulder, “There’s a serial killer duo ravaging downtown LA that I’ve been eyeing for a while. Their hideout has a drain-” Dark glances back and catches him watching, stilling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits for a reprimand or invitation, but doesn’t receive either. For a moment, he wonders if Dark is about to say something, about to move. Dark always has that presence, that intensity that takes the last word. This time, the other demon looks away, grip readjusting on the knives before continuing with a cool air. “I’ll be out in ten minutes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, he’s almost in love with this one. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Unexpected</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Love serial killer shows but desire a protective partner? Get you a demon that does both. Slight POV shift at the end. Y'all can figure it out I'm sure.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Second and last chapter of side OC suicide. You've made it this far, so I trust you. Also I can't find it on here, but I named the girl after another fic that wrote Anti and Dark with a daughter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The woman in front of Dark reminds him of Amy. Slight, fine, sweet-faced. If one looked past the sweat, blood and tears, she seems just like any other thirty-year old LA resident. Forgettable, perfect for slipping away and avoiding detection. The mind that lay behind those watery blue eyes produced the most horrific bodies LAPD has cleaned up this year. Mutilated flesh, suspected cannibalism, several counts of rape, slashed bellies of pregnant women. Dark didn’t consider himself a vigilante demon, but he chose this duo for a few particular reasons. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One, there was a victim for both him and Anti. Two, they were uncomfortably close to home. And three, criminals are always easier to dispose of quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits patiently in the couple’s quaint living room, analyzing a photo album of their kills. The woman, Janice (and with a name that dull, how could he blame her?) whimpers through her gag at each wretched scream echoing from the basement. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If she didn’t want to die in her basement, she shouldn’t have put the drain down there.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their signature was carving slurs into skin. How unoriginal. Child’s play when considering it occurs in Harry Potter. But he knows how the human mind bends and contorts. It’s a superiority complex, in a way. A slur to demean and deface, to bring the victims low even after death, and the minds of serial killer duos are twisted in themselves, typically falling into a dominant abuser and a submissive victim reduced to the will to please. He glances at Janice once more. She sags in her seat, letting out muffled wails. Earlier she tried to run between Anti and the male, Theo. Pity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders how much his own psychology overlaps. He wonders if Anti’s overlaps. Neither one of them would jump in front of a bullet for the other, much less a slow session with knives. Hell, they’d subject each other to a slow session with knives if they got bored or angry enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It came close today. He felt strangely bitter earlier when Anti fixated on his disguise. The image of Anti’s blood running down his neck after slicing it open with his own knife ran loops behind his eyes. He had those knives in his hands. They itched to make that vision a reality. But it faded away when he dropped the girl’s features for his own and Anti looked at him like...like he was a little more entranced. That’s something he wasn’t expecting or really knew he was hoping for. He threatened to stab him, taken off guard. And then when he left, he didn’t expect such an intense reaction, the other demon practically crushed that he was walking away without letting him explore. Nevertheless, he felt the need to change back, and so he had. He doesn’t care what Anti prefers. If he has a problem, the next time Dark steals his blades he’ll use them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe!” Anti says excitedly, glitching next to him and interrupting his thoughts. Janice cowers, making herself small. Dark glances up as if the photos are light reading. (And honestly, who the fuck scrapbooks their victims?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They have </span>
  <em>
    <span>tools </span>
  </em>
  <span>down there,” he continues, ignoring the request. Bright dripping blood is streaked across his cheeks like war paint, scarlet tears staining Jack’s shirt. His form flickers, three Antis grinning before converging. “Rusty ones, sharp ones, homemade ones!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Having fun?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re gonna love this fockin’ place. I want to take another hour. If you don’t wanna wait, we can fit them both down there.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janice has soiled herself. While calmly combing through the pictures (which get repetitive after the fourth), he’s been toying with her psyche. Her fear of not being good enough, her imprisonment as a submissive, the terrible conditioning she went through and now inflicts on victims. The abrupt appearance of Anti is a slap in the face after such a long buildup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, you are going to die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s no rush for her demise when she’s broken so much already. He’s about to tell Anti to go ahead when there’s a thud upstairs. Both their stances default to defensive; Dark is on his feet on Anti’s left, Anti covers his back. They’ve fought a lot in the past year, mostly with other demons (</span>
  <em>
    <span>mostly,</span>
  </em>
  <span> at least they haven’t killed each other yet). Allies are so much better than enemies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling,” Dark says, pinning Janice in place with a caring gaze. “What are you hiding up there?” The woman shivers, unable to look away. He unbinds her with gentle hands. “You can tell me,” he continues. “I promise, it can’t make things any worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, she lets Dark coax her out of her ball, unfolding to show them the way. Up the polished stairs they go, passing framed pictures of smiling relatives and graduations and a wedding. Anti scratches the wall like he’s keying a car. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Make it reflect its occupants.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pass two doors before coming to a locked one. Janice flinches away when Dark tries the knob to no avail. “Theo has the keys,” she squeaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was wonderin’ about these,” Anti muses, pulling a ring out of his pocket. Eyeing the amount of clinking metal annoys him. Dark pushes the lock with his power and swings the door open. He already knows he’ll find victims inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What sends him back a step is the lack. There’s one body here, a dim and boarded up space with no furniture. A little girl with equally little fists flies at him with a broken plank. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anna!” Janice shrieks, stopping the girl in her tracks. “That’s bad!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the admonishment, the girl starts to cry. The plank piece clatters on the floor. She can’t be more than five or six. Something in him cracks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An electric peal rings in his ears. He grabs Anti’s wrist before it can bear the knife down on the woman. “Take her outside,” he orders quietly, looking at the shaking infant. For once, there’s only a frustrated growl before immediate obedience. Anti glitches to her, crackling with fury. He shoots daggers at Janice with his eyes, the blue as bright as the green. Then they both disappear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at where the virus was. Anti had listened to him. Anti hadn’t fought back or protested or anything. And that look, those eyes. Was it Anti who was livid or was it Sean? Or both?</span>
</p>
<p><span>He stores the thought for later, focusing on keeping his auras in check when all they want to do is unleash hell. </span><b><em>Just a child. She’s just a child!</em></b> <span>Instead, he takes a calming breath. “Janice,” he begins, taking her hand and leading her back downstairs. “You’ve been locked up here too long. Theo kept you here. It isn’t fair, is it?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Her features harden, a flush creeping up her neck. “He kept the keys. He took all those women. I wasn’t good enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is he to think that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opens her mouth as if wanting to protest, but glances at such understanding eyes. She shudders. “He’s...he’s an asshole. A pathetic creep who needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to keep them in line.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what did you get in return?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Defensive now. “I got Anna. I could keep her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anna, the one who fights you? The bad little girl?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze glosses, looking back at the empty room and nodding slowly. “The bad little girl. But I’m not worthy of anything better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The mothers were yours to kill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once he slipped up, yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You cleaned up his mistakes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now her shoulders roll back, realization dawning. “I cleaned up his mistakes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He used you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re fucking right he did. That bastard!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He gave you a brat and a black eye for trying to walk outside while you were cleaning up his mistakes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes with rage. “I deserve better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do.” They’re passing through the living room, strolling towards the basement stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All I wanted was to be good enough,” she sniffs, squeezing his hand. “Good enough that I could go out and we wouldn’t have to bring another girl home, good enough for him to take </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to bed, I’ve been loyal for so damn long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He doesn’t deserve you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He doesn’t deserve me.” They descend the basement stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll just keep using you like you are nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He deserves to feel like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door to their torture closet is ajar, letting the smell of piss and blood permeate the air. Heavy breaths swell in the cramped space. Sure enough, there’s a tool bench next to it. Dark pulls Janice’s hand to look her in the eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you show him what he deserves?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brows furrow, eyes steely with determination. She strides to the table, plucks a rusty hammer off the surface, and kicks down the door. Dark watches Theo’s face turn from frightened to relieved and then to demanding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did those psychos leave? Get me out-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hammer hits his shoulder with a loud crunch. The demanding look turns to one of abject fear. Dark crosses his arms and observes. Janice screams just as loud as Theo does, ranting about the abuse and the kid and how sex wasn’t even that great. She pounds his knees, leaving him unable to evade the blow between them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The hammer’s claws pierce into deep stab wounds on his side left over from Anti’s field day. She hits herself several times in the backswing but doesn’t pause nor care, striking and striking and striking. Blood races in waves to the drain. She double-hands the handle and brings the hammer in one climactic arc above her head, bringing it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theo’s screaming stops when his pinkish grey brains spill onto the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She throws the hammer aside, scrambling back to the table to return with a butterfly knife. Her penmanship flies out the window. Harsh letters rip into dead skin, all the names he called her over the years, all the things she wanted to snap back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Slut, whore, worthless, cunt, dick, bastard, pathetic. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It takes six whole minutes for her to step back, knife clattering on the floor once her work is done. Her chest heaves, eyes wild. She’s done it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you feel good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grins at him over a blood-spattered shoulder. “I showed him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you feel safe now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s gone. He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone. Oh, god, I could do anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark drifts to the door, blocking her exit. “You feel safe and happy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s how Anna should have felt.” He slams the door, bolting her inside. The confusion on her face amuses him. “You’re isolated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her head whips around, searching for another exit. There is none.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“You’re alone.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words are a whisper in her ear with no source. No one is there. No one at the door. She’s locked in a prison of her own making, oh god. She looks to her last source of human connection, breaking down into gasping sobs. She killed him. Her love. She’d killed him. It was all her fault. She’d done it. She’s all alone, a murderer, a traitorous, soiled wife. The voice comes again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you deserve?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The outside air is fresh and crisp as the sun sets over the city. Dark strolls down the wide front porch, looking around. A man in a sweatshirt holds a sleeping girl in his arms on the sidewalk, a knife handle poking out from his back jean pocket. He rocks her slowly, humming a soothing lullaby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark has to stop for a moment and watch. That’s so...unexpected. Neither of them had a particular hatred of humanity, but they didn’t care much for it either. Kids were just humans, if not opportunities in the making. The anger Anti showed...disproportionate. Sean </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have reacted, or the body’s instincts kicked in. Dark’s own reaction, though present, had not been that strong. Yet red sunlight reflects off bright irises. This was Anti doing this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is she?” he asks, coming to his side. Up close, his eyes are more blazing turquoise than uneven. The glow wavers like a firefly. So it’s mostly Anti. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tossed about,” he answers through his teeth. “What about Dick and Jane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scattered on the floor.” Anti gives a curt nod before resuming the song. The blood has been hastily scrubbed away, his hood gathered between the girl’s closed eyes and his slit throat. He looks lost, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. “She’s asleep, I don’t think you need to keep doing that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who says it’s for her? I wanted to shove a blade down their throats and rip their hearts out until they choked on their own blood. You’re lucky I didn’t end that bitch in the hall.” Anti visibly stops himself, getting worked up and reigning back in. It’s fascinating. In a lower tone he continues. “But that’s over now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chase says she should go to her extended family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti listening to other egos. He might have to check his sanity later and make sure this is the real one in control. “Are you going to take her there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might as well.” He looks back at the house, tensing. “Hold her a sec, I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What-?” Before he can argue, Anti pushes the girl at him with a determined expression. She blinks sleepily at him, confused. He can’t push her back; the other demon is already gone, leaving him alone out on the sidewalk as night settles in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s a small thing for her age. Frail from isolation indoors. Breakable. How the hell did Anti stay still all this time to hold this eggshell? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>did Anti stay still all this time holding this eggshell? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something red on her shoulder catches his eye as she squirms, trying to get comfortable. She buries herself in his chest when he brushes over it with a thumb. It’s a cut. No, it’s not a cut. It’s a word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Waste. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anna whimpers against his jacket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh,” he says. He feels the shuddering wave of her emotions under his palm, a wounded animal. The cracked part of him burns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti returns minutes later to take her to her aunt’s, finding the address in the house after soaking in the couple’s destruction. He takes a surprised step back before Dark notices him. He’s skimming Anna’s little shoulder, purple light wiping away carved letters he hadn’t noticed earlier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know you guys could do that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>I slit our throat and you walk around without a scratch.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I meant care. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Shut up, Jack. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You do have hearts somewhere.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>I said shut up.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He strides forward to take her back. “Got the address. Meet you at the house in five.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark smoothly transfers her to him. “Satisfied?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He means the torn corpses cooling in the basement. Honestly, he doesn’t think anything was horrible enough for them. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know if he’s the one thinking that. Jack is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>present, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s unfair. Tomorrow, when Anti has full reign, he’ll change that. It won’t do to have his human so central. “Satisfied.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Tang</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Brief chapter placing several fun mental images into the universe. Remember the Pumpkin Carving dress? Or the conference room of egos? Good times.<br/>*insert commercial about how moms always call at the worst times.<br/>I love word association games.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tonight, Dark will slip to Mark’s house. Last year he let Mark have the holiday, Tyler instating a schedule that hadn't yet configured everything in. Like hell Dark would show up when Mark was wearing those ridiculous knee socks and insubstantial, too-small-to-zipper dress. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Which he had taken a liking to way too much. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He doesn’t feel like dealing with Amy or Teamiplier, especially after the cutting and ridiculous WKM project. Now they think they know him. This year, all the videos due to be released are pre-recorded, his schedule is clear, and he notified Mark to clear his. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And no tiny skirts. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then some of Mark’s friends decided Halloween would be the perfect time to release a stupid remix for him, and he promised a stream. Dark is not looking forward to letting the idiot dictate an hour and a half. He definitely does not look forward to it now that Anti’s going to be in the house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a few hours of meantime between Anti returning from dropping the girl off and Halloween. Dark watches him aggressively clean knives in his kitchen on the borders, blatantly ignoring the occasional buzz of a notification from his phone on the counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glint of metal pricks at old scars. He’s been on the receiving end far too many times for far too many purposes for it not to invoke at least a curious mood. Contributing to this is the view of Anti from the side. He’s never asked about the heterochromia, despite the obvious difference in color between the demon and the mortal. Even when in the Upside Down, it carried over like his tattoo. There’s a significance there, especially considering today’s development. Anti’s eyes are green, they have to be, the blue is always backlit and that’s how Jack portrays him (which could just be for easier editing on that overlay, but still). Yet he never changes it. Maybe it’s reached the point that he can’t change it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What must that be like, being unable to change appearance? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to see if Jack’s still present. He wants to see Anti’s eyes change. He wonders what Anti would look like if he was able to choose. The fierce expression on those sharp features sidetracks his reverie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re angry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti glares at him in a blade’s reflection. “And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to know why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glitch fumes in silence, static zapping the nearby toaster. He lets him simmer. After a few minutes, Anti whips his favorite blade into the pantry door. The gouge joins the growing collection. “I want to know </span>
  <em>
    <span>whyyy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he mocks, getting closer to where Dark leans against the counter. “What, are we fockin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriends </span>
  </em>
  <span>now? Talkin’ about feelings and shite?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They met half a year ago. They’ve been fucking for most of it. He’s thought about it, the shift to allies begging the question. The human label seems too cute for whatever it is they have. “You’re avoiding the question on purpose. Anything to do with Anna? Your reaction to her was unexpectedly intense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you stop psychoanalyzing me? Emotions are your thing. Not mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have emotions, Anti, you just hate feeling them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then don’t poke at em!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark examines his cuticles, ignoring the outburst. The only noise in the room is his even breathing and Anti’s drone. The most effective method with Anti is calmly ignoring him. It doesn’t take two minutes before he hears him shift his weight. He feels more than sees him shuffle over, nudging his shoulder with his head. Dark doesn’t look up. The glitch is like a cat that wants attention. If withheld long enough, the cat makes the first move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long minute passes. Anti sighs, shoulders losing tension. The words are low and rough. “I got caught off-guard. Sean saw her. I felt...shit, like we were the same person, like it didn’t matter who was directing it as long as that bitch got what was coming to her. It threw me off.” He hides his face in his jacket. “I’m usually better about it. I should’ve been better about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of commenting on his moment of duplicity and lack of control, Dark finds his hand and holds it. It’s an odd thing Anti likes to do sometimes when they silently agree never to acknowledge it. He doesn’t know why it started, but it began after the fight with TJ. Maybe it’s some strange claiming method to remind Anti of pinning Dark under him the night after. Except he doesn’t do it all the time, just when they have a stupid fight. He really can’t reason it out. But physical contact is a reassurance for humans and calming for the glitch, so he does it anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s known where Anti’s weakest for a while, though he’s never admitted anything. He’s terrified of being forgotten. For all the cold, calculating treatment of the egos and Jack and the constant reminders to keep the fandom theorizing, he loses sleep over the thought. And while Anti claims it’s their time difference keeping him up, or Jack’s insomnia, his tell never fails to give him away. His pride doesn’t loosen his tongue; his actions are far more telling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti squeezes. An apology without so many words. Dark rethinks their label, unable to properly categorize this seesaw of murderous intent and half-addressed comfort. The glitch withdraws, analyzing the reaction. Green and blue, back to normal. Just him, then. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alone at last.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dark leans in, giving Anti the attention he craves to reinforce the apology. They have an hour and a half before midnight. That’s plenty of time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something to be said about how he feels when he’s hosting. In the borders the difference is muted, but noticeable; it’s easier for Anti to stay grounded and easier for him to break. Dark cages him against the counter out of habit, the glitch bracing himself with a hand and a small noise. He lets up on the pressure. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Softer. Jack’s body is more delicate than Anti’s. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He also tastes like coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The idiotic contraption called a phone starts ringing. The ringtone belongs to Wil. Dark breaks away from luscious lips to answer it. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ego meeting in </span>
  <em>
    <span>five</span>
  </em>
  <span> minutes, 3D effect! Your attendance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>required, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as we want to go through some things before you have your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Mark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distracting hands pull him in by his tie, a mischievous smirk on Anti’s mouth. He puts up a hand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m on the phone, wait five seconds.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A jeaned thigh teases the interest in his trousers. Dark glances at a clock, the glitch nibbling at his neck. 10:36. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unfair. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He scowls. “What could possibly take that long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s an official ego </span>
  <em>
    <span>meeting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dark! It </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>takes longer than intended! See you in </span>
  <em>
    <span>four</span>
  </em>
  <span> minutes!” Before Dark can argue, Wil hangs up. He tosses the infernal device on the counter, biting his not-boyfriend’s lip for being juvenile during a call. Anti nips him back with a grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You use your phone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get smug. I have it, I might as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was so important?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hands travel up his chest, over his shoulders to loop around his neck. Dark sighs and guides them off. “Ego meeting before the holiday. Formalities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck formalities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at that, inhaling the close scent of copper and spice. “Where would I be without formalities?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eloquent as always.” Of course there’d be stupid ego things getting in the way, keeping him from this lovely form and the list of things he wants to do to it, all the fun he could have with him. He cuts off that tangent before he can change his mind. “I have to go. Meet me at midnight.” Anti kisses him again, a drawn out reply. Coffee and copper, a bitter and addictive flavor. Dark presses harder, then slips out of his grip, grabbing his phone.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t over,” Anti says, watching him leave with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>You will make it up to me </span>
  </em>
  <span>glance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will continue this later,” Dark promises with a smirk. He transports to the meeting before that look can lure him back in, arriving flushed but otherwise put together, smoothing his suit jacket as he sits at the end of the table. Basically everyone else has already arrived and dissolved into chatter, Google and Bing arguing while the Host describes everything going on. Dark gains Wil’s focus. “What is this about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t often every eye in the room looks at him. He folds his hands on the conference table, uncomfortable as the center of attention. Dr. Iplier’s eyes drop to his neck. He mutters the word “contusions” to himself, Host repeating it louder during his narrative. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Contusion?” Ed asks. “Seems pretty clear cut. Track ‘em, smack ‘em-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>confusion, </span>
  </em>
  <span>moron,” Bing interrupts. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Contusion.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shall I bring up the top five results for-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up Google, no one asked you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are the other three?” Bim asks, looking around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Operating towards our primary objective.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, god, not this again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>people, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>have our things. Let’s not be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>judgmental.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door opens. Dark doesn’t even have to look at the newcomer. “I’m King of the Squirrels.” The door shuts again. This will repeat fifty more times. It always does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tugs his collar up and shoots Iplier a warning glare. “Shall we get this over with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bing lazily scrolls through his phone. “Jim isn’t here yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iplier scans the room. “Which one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Either of them. Something about being stuck on the moon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gunshots silence the conversations. Hardly any of them jump anymore. Wil holds his shooty up, the smell of gunpowder reeking from the old thing. “Settle down, you rascals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jack’s egos must be more logic-based than Mark’s, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dark thinks idly, scanning the room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially if they all live in the same area without (mostly) killing each other. Unless Anti isn’t telling me about the others partaking in his murderous subplots.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anti. I wonder if he’s carved out a window on the pantry door yet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Meeting. Get through it. Focus. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright servers and gents and </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> configurations of being,” Wil states, haphazardly tossing his gun at his place on the table. “We’ve got approximately an hour and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>half </span>
  </em>
  <span>before Darkiplier considers mass </span>
  <em>
    <span>homicide, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so let’s get started, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shall </span>
  </em>
  <span>we?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Tease</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Anti's bored. One of the rare times I've seen either demon play a video game in an E rated fic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For all the havoc Anti could cause in the house, he’s starting to see it as Dark does: a reprieve akin to the one Anti made in the deep web. Yeah, he’s left a growing pattern of gouges in the pantry door, but he has the firewall to chuck sharp objects into. Like the knife he recently unstuck to throw again. Fuck formalities. They were in the middle of something. Why did Mark’s egos interrupt? They can’t be like Bro and Doc and Dipshit, who hardly bother reminding him not to break any rules before switching with Jack. An hour and a half long meeting? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ridiculous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And Dark had gone without much fuss, too. Wearing that little smirk, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing by leaving. He probably does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a...fuck, he doesn’t know, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>moment, </span>
  </em>
  <span>for lack of a better term. Feelings and shite. Laced fingers and apologies on shared breaths. Damn him for framing it that way. He’d still kill the void if prodded. It’s just...at this point, they’re mutually beneficial. That’s it. Mutually beneficial. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark doesn’t know that Anti is fine pushing limits. Or at least, wouldn’t expect him to show up at Mark’s five minutes after Dark leaves him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The human is half dozing in bed, half trying to beat some indie horror game on his laptop. His hair is no longer dyed any crazy colors, back to a short, wavy black. Boyish charm still clings to him despite being older since Anti last saw him, emphasized by his clean shaven face. He yawns, looking at the clock on screen. That’s right, he has a usual schedule now where he doesn’t stay up until the witching hour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti physically glitches into the dim, messy room during a short doze session. Mark’s got a sweet setup going on; the laptop at the foot of the bed, a pillow right next to it for when he nods off. Evidently the horror game is a demo he’s been circling around for hours in, the jumpscares and orchestral music losing its touch over time. Another four open tabs have various walkthroughs, hints, and social media forums open. He’s not even wearing his full headphones, one earbud out as he sleeps. Anti’s eyes go to the sliver of skin visible under a ridden-up t-shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As humans go, he’s fairly attractive. Fit, tan, has that youthful innocence ingrained in his skin. In less than two hours, he gets to touch that skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Warm, unyielding, </span>
  </em>
  <span>an image of red eyes runs behind his lids, </span>
  <em>
    <span>We will continue this later-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus, Anti. Less than two hours. You’ve survived this long on your own, you can wait another fucking hour or two. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He carefully sits cross-legged next to Mark’s shoulder, easing the laptop from inert fingers to his lap. Okay, yes, sewers, steam pipes, monsters chasing the PC during fetch quests. Nothing horrible. He steals the earbuds and brings up the menu, changing the controls. Sean doesn’t play as many horror games in his spare time as Mark does, the pansy. Anti doesn’t get to play as much as he wants to. But now he’s got an hour or so to shoot the shit. Might as well get his mind off the vulnerable form by his knee. The form that’ll bruise under his hands and won’t heal within hours, letting the world see his claims, that will bend so prettily in pleasure - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, focus!</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The current objective is to find power switches in the grody tunnels without being eaten by whatever low-graphic creature is hunting the PC. Anti could dip into the coding and learn the patterns, map, and locations, but what’s the fun in that? The audio is cheap but not ineffective. Orchestral whines hype up corners without monsters present. Ambient sewer and paranormal noises used in a surround sound format make the creatures breathe down his neck and the pipes transform into snakes. Audio does nothing to cue the PC meaningfully, which is a decent way to make a game unpredictable despite complaints of uselessness. Maybe more tense than scary, but uncomfortable at the least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>About ten minutes into it, he turns quickly to find a wall where there wasn’t a wall before. A randomly generated map then, meant to disorient and frustrate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did the developers just throw this game together with as many random things as possible? Is there even a plot to this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Twenty minutes later, he understands why Mark had been at this for hours. The game bugs from overloaded effects. Anti simply bugs it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He eventually finds the three switches and powers the exit. One of Mark’s tabs tells him he’ll need a keycard, yet another fetch quest that wouldn’t announce itself until the PC reached the door, forcing another long trek backwards. The monsters are far more active now. He ducks one exiting the third switch’s room, dodging another to get to the keycard. They’re very </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vanish</span>
  </em>
  <span>-eqsue animals, but these have hulking shoulders and bulging, blind eyes. Not the most frightening Anti has seen, disregarding the fictional aspect. Any jumpscares come from their jarring appearance and loud screeches if the character is caught. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pipe rattles and hisses in his left ear. Rapid footsteps slap in a tunnel to the right. His flashlight flickers from lack of battery, because that’s apparently also a thing to worry about. He rolls his shoulders back, barely cognizant enough to realize how long he’s been hunched over the screen. God, indie demos were </span>
  <em>
    <span>not meant </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take so long. He’d beaten PT in half an hour, Unforgiven in less than an hour. This plotless thing shouldn’t take more than fifteen, but it’s...11 and 20. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it worth it to dip in?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something cool touches his arm!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only reason Anti doesn’t transport or slash is because the rational part of him remembers the real world. He whacks the pause button, ripping the earbud out to glare at the idiot touching him. It’s Mark, having woken back up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s name seems caught in his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A random Jack appeared in his room and stole his horror game right before a full day of demonic possession. He can see how that’s disorienting. But god, was he really idiotic enough to poke at the unknown?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Anti asks him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Mark replies stupidly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti stares at him. Brown eyes, no trace of red. Healthy, tan glow. Still so young. Dark had chosen this one and taken on this form. Why this one? There were plenty of obsessive muscled types out there with steel jawlines and fantasizing fandoms. This one is so...docile in comparison. Anti hadn’t really gotten to choose, but Dark did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m beating this stupid excuse for a game, ya moron,” he answers. Mark’s eyes shift to the screen. Anti unpauses it, pulling the code with a finger. Two tunnels down on the right, through another door, past another creature, and there, the exit. The quest initiates for the keycard, which he gets out of his inventory and uses. The door unlocks, leading to a black screen and the credits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was a keycard?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. That’s how they dick ya over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mark groans, burying his face in the pillow. The frustrated, pitchy complaint muffles against the cushion for a solid minute. He doesn’t know why, but it reminds him of Dark’s expression earlier when his phone rang. Both outlets express the same emotion on the same face differently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuts the laptop, unplugging himself from the earbuds. On the side table, Mark’s watch reads half past. He flops backwards, stretching out beside the boy and relieving the tension in his limbs from the game. From here, he has a great view of dat ass. Oh, what fun he could have. And it’s nearly time anyways. What’s the harm in getting a little closer?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what do you wanna do now?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Green</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I love the Jims. <br/>Herein lies the last flying fuck Dark possessed, behold as it migrates far, far away.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>At precisely 11:59, Dark stands and readjusts his jacket, interrupting another of Wil and Iplier’s copacetic conversations. The doctor has the good sense to shut up. Wil simply looks inconvenienced and rolls his eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>sweetheart?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As fun as this has been, and I assure you I’ve had more fun picking bullets out of my skin, it’s time for me and Mark to trade shifts.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now wait just a minute here-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has to bite his cheek to keep calm, walking to the door. “Absolutely not.” The last hour and a half dragged on far too long, mostly spent on random tangents and unimportant bullshit. Screentime disagreements, semantic debates, moronic ideas for videos that have gaping holes in their logic. He’s been polite. He let Wil maintain his role. He even listened to most of it and participated instead of letting his mind wander. But now enough is enough. Only Wil directs him to stay. The egos watch the relay with wide eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darkiplier, we still have-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you cared. You can wait one damn minute-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you walking mashup-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gunshot spins him on his heels. The pistol is still smoking when he grabs Wil by the faded suspenders. “Going to shoot me, Wil?” His eyes narrow, feeling power coiling in his limbs, threatening to burst from his seams. “Again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like it’d do any good,” the loon replies, pointing it at him. He shrugs casually in the demon’s grip. “What are you in </span>
  <em>
    <span>such </span>
  </em>
  <span>a goddamned </span>
  <em>
    <span>rush </span>
  </em>
  <span>for anyways?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hot date?” Iplier mutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“New </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stranger Things</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Google suggests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Getting the fuck away from here?” Bing says loudly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m King of the Squirrels.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Impatience rages against Dark’s composure in a growl. The lights explode in a firework of sparks, leaving the room in pitch darkness except for the servers’ eyes. The egos fall silent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale. Hold. Exhale. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dark releases Wil, stepping back towards the door. The white emergency lights power on. “None of your concern.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>storm off in a pretentious wave of angst. Just no killing, maiming, kidnapping, hunting-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drinking,” Iplier supplements.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-drinking, debauchery in public, debauchery on film, drugs, messing with any of Mark’s friends, partners, subscribers, or family-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door groans under the pressure Dark’s fingers expel on it, waiting for the list to be over so he can leave. “I already agreed to this last year, I know what’s acceptable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>you now?” Dark’s jaw clenches, teeth grit together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale, hold. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wil continues with a semi-normal tone, making everyone else shut up. “That’s Mark’s body you’re running around in, doll. We don’t need you and your glitch fucking him up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence is deafening. The door handle snaps in Dark’s hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Exhale. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Slowly, he turns around, relaxing his fingers until the handle clinks on the floor. Auras blur his edges, he can feel the slight tug in both directions. His only color here. After all these years, all the potshots and grating cadences and bodies hitting the ground, this is it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too far. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Before he can take that lethal first step towards the crackpot, the door opens from the other side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-was just another conspiracy,” Jim is saying to Jim, both stopping dead in their tracks. Bim gives them a hand across the throat gesture. Wil cocks his gun irritably. Jim gets very Jim, as does Jim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon refocuses on Wil. “I do as I damn well please. And if you ever bring Anti into an argument again, I’ll break your bones just like I broke your mind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I think he just got too worried, Dark,” Silver says. “W-Without Mark, none of us would exist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you wouldn't.” He evaluates the room, lingering on each ego until they’re unnerved before moving on. “I would enjoy the quietude.” Wil’s the only one to keep his gaze as he turns on his heel. The Jims part to let him pass. It’s unnecessary; the jittery sensation of transportation races in his blood. The force of it shocks him. It’s his rage boiling over, causing him to scatter. Had it been any other Halloween, the lecture would pass by without ceremony. But they interrupted him, forced him to sit through their bullshit, and then poked at his bond with Anti. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>glitch, they called him. Like they’re a fucking couple or something. Like they wouldn’t kill each other as soon as they were no longer useful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’s because he’s so unhinged, maybe it’s because it’s fucking 12:07 and he can feel the wrongness of not being out, already tethering to Mark but not fully </span>
  <em>
    <span>there. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Whatever the reason, he says “Later, bitches,” and transports before he delivers the massacre Wil joked about minute one. Throughout the meeting, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Not that he’ll ever admit it to the glitch, but he’s gotten so accustomed to having one that he had to resist checking it during their aimless discussions (Wil has been known to shoot cell phones at inopportune times. This has caused Bing to sue). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingerprint doesn’t work on the scanner, but the message previews come up anyways. He stops dead outside Mark’s door. Of 2 things, he was positive. This is Anti’s phone, which he must’ve accidentally grabbed from the counter. And Anti was no longer filling the space in the sender’s suddenly lonely bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s lost partners before. He’s been cheated on, left, hell he literally made himself from scandals and broken hearts. In fact, he’s done the same to many beings throughout his years. But nothing has ever stabbed him in the gut like his current fling hiding an entire affair from him successfully while looking him in the eye. He’d like to blame Anti’s audacity for his inability to move or say anything. He knows it’s not the glitch’s nerve that reels him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only thing that snaps him back into himself is his human’s voice saying “Jack.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark shoves the door open. “Wrong.” Both boys whip around to look at him, Mark as if he’s been slapped and Anti as if finally getting dessert after finishing his vegetables. The answering glare turns the expression to analytical. He knows that expression. It’s the same look Anti gets when he’s planning something, processing information, or finding the optimal place to cut. Familiar. It makes this hurt more somehow. His glitch, Wil called him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dark, wait-” Mark starts, unplugging his earbuds to rush over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snatches Mark’s wrist as it goes for his shoulder, yanking control from him. His limbs sing with satisfaction, warmth filling his core and his senses dulling to a dim pleasantness as the world turns 180 degrees. The demon doesn’t give a shit. He stalks over to Anti, who stands ready to defend himself from any flying punches. “The fuck are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seizes Anti’s hoodie and jerks him forward. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>do you think you’re doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was nothing to do and a long-ass wait,” Anti shoots back. His lips are full, his cheeks flushed. His eyes are blue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His eyes are blue. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you decided to play with Mark because you were bored? How about next time I pay a little visit to Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti’s eyes tighten, baring his teeth. “Don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair is fair, darling. You can come home to me taking your little Irish boy apart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell is wrong with you?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? I can come back to you plastered to his side but you can’t handle reciprocation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Plastered to his-</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What are you goin’ on about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re sleeping with another demon, I doubt you’d draw the line at Mark!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti, for his part, doesn’t pause for breath. “No, I didn’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>seduce </span>
  </em>
  <span>your human. And yes, I’m having fun without you sometimes. What’s the big deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you’re mine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Anti gapes at him. A small scoff drops from his mouth. “I could be a focking slut and sleep with </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know, and you still wouldn’t get a say in it, Dark. You don’t get to decide when I ‘ave fun.” Reality blanks out for a second. It reemerges horizontally, Dark shoving Anti’s wrists down onto the bed. The virus stares at him with wide eyes. “You...just glitched…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fixes his wrists in place with a lash of power, letting his hands fist the other’s hair. The kiss is bruising, teeth clacking and lips pinching. He doesn’t care. His own body is already roused from sheer frustration. It infuriates him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His glitch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘No one else gets to see you like this,’” he recites at him. “‘No one else gets to knock you over and make you beg.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you went along with that,” Anti shoots back. “I never made any promises.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He never did. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, he never did. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dark assumed so much from that, mistaking possession with singular need, and he uses that very tactic against so many people. He should've seen through that, known what he was doing. Yet he let Anti have him, let him in too far like an idiot. He stopped fighting for a second, and that was too long. He slides a hand under the pillow, searching. Anti’s never far from a blade. His fingers find a handle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hate you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt this is the first time since then you've had ‘fun'?” The glitch huffs and looks away, avoiding the question. The grip in his hair tightens. “How many?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue eyes shoot daggers when they return to him. “Supernatural booty calls? Three.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first slice on his cheek takes him by surprise, the welling blood drawing out a cry. The second on the other pulls wetness from his eyes, Jack’s pain tolerance far lower than Anti’s. By the third, a shallow cut across his throat, he reigns himself back in with a sharp breath. The boy’s stubble provides a rough, grounding feeling as he licks across the last cut. Human blood charged with Anti’s presence, a heady iron taste and bittersweet scent. The shudder from the body under him does not go unnoticed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did they make you feel this way?” he asks lowly, pulling his head to the side to bare his neck for more access. He drops the blade in favor of gripping his waist. The thought of others being able to access this, the image of other hands knowing these curves, even the suggestion that Anti </span>
  <em>
    <span>let </span>
  </em>
  <span>them makes him see red. “Did they make you squirm?” He sinks his teeth into pale flesh, feeling Anti’s legs struggle for purchase on the blankets. But he doesn't transport. That's how Dark knows he's right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His glitch, Wil said. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That isn't what he hated about that assumption. They made it sound like they were two pieces of the same twisted puzzle, fitting the broken pieces together. Something that was messed up but was meant to be messed up together. He didn’t hate their view of the glitch. He hated the implication that he was equally Anti’s. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the boys are fightinnnggg.<br/>Also I usually have zero tolerance for cheaters. The only reason this would work out is because a) they're demons Jim and b) it really isn't their issue, it's a symptom of both their issues.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Every movement now stings. Dark didn’t cut deep, he knew what he was doing, but that meant it still hurts. Probably some fucked-up punishment for ‘cheating’ or some bullshit. They never had any discussion about exclusivity but Anti knows Dark. He knows Dark’s deathly afraid of losing control. If he loses that, people can leave him. If he loses that, he’s insignificant. Unimportant. Mark told Jack everything he knew about how to handle Dark, telling Anti nothing new. Play him off, never look him in the eye when making deals, etc. The most important thing was to always let Dark feel like he had some control without giving him any. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, Dark took control from Mark like he was grabbing a coat. Bad example. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, did Anti know Dark would be upset? He knew it, yes, he simply chose to ignore it in favor of his own philosophy (and basic general demon philosophy); everyone’s out for themselves. He went out with others to remind himself he could. He had to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They held hands on occasion. Dark knew how Anti liked his coffee. Anti knew Dark’s favorite candy. He told Dark about targeting Jack’s egos. Dark told him about subverting Team Iplier. He knows Dark’s MO, and Dark can tell exactly how long Anti will play with a victim. Dark still sleeps half on him. Anti still lets him. Companionship and attention, but at what cost? It’s a blessing of a curse. He’s getting too close to Dark and it will kill him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s getting worse. He had to distance himself. Dark is still too useful an ally to kill. And once permissions are given, it’s damn near impossible to redact them. He’s stuck half-playing and half-played by this demon. Things would’ve been so much easier if he’d left him on that field. If day one of post-fight interactions he had some fucking sense and fought him again. Even leaving Dark bruised and used in August would've worked better for him, had he possessed the intelligence to walk away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t help that Jack’s tormenting him on the other end. Keeping him locked up for weeks now instead of days, trapped not just in his mind but in his room so he can’t even talk to the others. And there’s a new addition to the family as well, Jameson who has no verbal abilities. Of course Anti had to interrupt Jameson’s video. Jack is trying to eradicate him from existence. He’s trying to make everyone forget so Anti will fade away and be too weak to fight back. Jameson is replacing him and no one cares. No one gives Anti the time of day. The desire in his bones to not need anyone hurts with its intensity, making him feel hollow. God, if he didn’t need anyone, he wouldn’t feel like shit. If he didn’t need anyone, he wouldn’t give a shit about Dark. He wouldn’t fade away with the fandom’s lack of interest and he certainly would not reside in a mouthy brat. He should’ve stayed coding in the deep web for another few decades.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter how he got here, though. He’s still here, the addictive void poking too close to the truth as he presses into him. Reclaiming what’s his. And unless Dark decides to expel energy to change it, he’s using light brown eyes and soft around the edges hands to do it. Which makes it increasingly hard to separate Mark’s vulnerabilities from Dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Desperate to be my only, are you?” Anti replies. Honestly, he’s still reeling from Dark glitching them here. What the hell went down in that ego meeting? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A growl is the response, sparking a primal heat down his spine. What had he said earlier about their status? Dark never replied what they were, but he pulled him in, held his hand, let up on the pressure at the slightest noise of discomfort. And now he's marking him up for not staying loyal. He’s obviously obsessed. That by itself isn't concerning. In fact, it's exactly where Anti wants him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The concerning part is this magnet in his gut, the suffocating haze of desire and anger and possessiveness that made him so impatient for midnight and dissatisfied with the boy. That makes him shudder under his hands as his tongue rasps over his cuts. He waited hours to have this demon pressed against him again, and now he’s here, so close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, the others didn't make him feel this way, and that's what will destroy him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damning questions jump on the tip of his tongue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What took you so long? What happened in the meeting? What do you want me to say, I'm sorry? Because I'm not. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then Dark is kissing him, tasting like his blood, and it makes his twisted heart sing. So when he breaks off for air, looking like he's going to devour him, Anti gives him the same. “Are you gonna finish what you started?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark’s appraising gaze scans over him as if searching for the best place to start. “Why would I waste my energy if you can get someone else to do it?” A fucking challenge. Void below, he's forcing the issue. Digging deeper than before, cutting into him so he can't walk away. Fine. Anti knows his way around edges. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did that hurt your feelings, baby boy?” he asks in a coddling tone. “Finding out that I don't depend solely on you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You're avoiding the question.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So are you.” Dark’s hand drifts over his hips, unbuttoning his jeans. Anti pushes against his restraint but the shadow keeps him in place, not letting him fight the fingers unzipping, jerking his clothes down. “Coward.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don't like other people touching my things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your-” his witty retort pitches into a whine as a warm hand wraps around him. Anti quickly bites his lip to shut himself up. A thumb plays lazily over his head, rubbing over the damp slit to ignite his nerves. Hot, wet kisses press under his ear, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin there. Sucking bruises for the boys to see later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lips brush against the shell of his ear, voice a low rumble. “Did they make you feel this good, love?” Anti tries to muster up another </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but the hand around his dick squeezes, beginning to pump him slowly. The cuts on his cheeks sting as his features screw up, feeding the fire. Dark’s lips curve into a smile against his skin. “Come on, Antisepticeye. Tell me you found better elsewhere. Tell me you don't need this. Say it like you mean it, and I’ll back off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” he manages. Full name, holy shit. Full mortal name anyway, as a demon you </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> say your infernal name. He's suddenly very aware that the creature above him doesn't look like that at all. That he and Dark both looked radically different as energies clashing for enough strength to slip into this recognizable, categorical dimension. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most shocking thing about Dark right now shouldn't be his lack of liner. And yet that's the only thing skewing Anti’s perspective. Of course he wouldn't have it on; it isn't common at all for Mark. He misses it. Damn it all, he misses it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What does he want from you? Surrender. Control. Possession. How d’you reject it without getting murdered?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t wanna reject it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course you do. You have to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no I don’t. I’ve gotten close to him now, he trusts me. That’s gotta count for something.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Or how ‘bout it doesn’t? You know better than that. Suppose you dare disagree with him in the future about something? This is how he’ll solve it. And if you make him really mad, he’ll kill you, and you’ll ‘ave lived out your pathetic life as his bitch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I should kill him. But I don’t want to.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let him win. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll cost you. It’s after midnight, you don’t have boundless transport.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t care. Don’t let him win. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti glitches. He snatches his blade from where Dark left it and transports. In a blink, he has him pinned by a knife at his throat, poised to strike. Dark glares at him with his own eyes now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t do it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anti thinks</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Don’t you fucking do it, Anti, you idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He returns the look (</span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>) and drops Jack’s blues. A visual reminder of exactly who he’s dealing with. And just as they always do, deep brown irises lure him closer. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Go ahead, do it. Come to me, my sweetest friend. Come over here now that you’re in control and do as you will. Because I will be waiting for the moment you slip. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he’s never been this conflicted over killing someone. He hates the mess Dark makes of his morality. Things were so much easier when feelings weren’t involved. He could just meet up with him one night and mess around and there would be no questions asked. They can’t go back to that anymore. Dark obviously feels some type of way about it and Anti...if this were reversed, he might’ve done the same. Dark’s only let him in once. He still remembers the last time they were like this, way back in August. It was fun and unspoken and...instead of this scowl, Dark had laughed. He had smiled. Anti made him stutter. It’d been mesmerizing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s it. That’s why he’s hesitating now. He’s seen the potential good things and doesn’t want them destroyed with the bad. That’s how Dark operates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Uncertainty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second half of the scene from the other half of the ship.<br/>Is "allies" what the kids are calling it now?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he hesitating?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti has him prone, knife pressed hard enough to draw blood and constrict his airway. He’d felt the shift when Anti’s calculating overtook instinct, but before he decided what to do about it Anti glitched. The rage has dissipated; Mark was never one to handle it well. What remains is anxiety, the twitchiness ingrained in the muscles from ADD and his own racing concerns. On any other day, Dark would’ve overcome it easily. But Halloween traps him in this as much as it gives him control, making it harder to focus. Not as hard as his human’s struggle, but more difficult than he’s used to. Like reading a book in a crowded bar. By the time the thought takes form in words (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he hesitating?</span>
  </em>
  <span>) he’s already moved on to analysis and gotten frustrated with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You underestimated the situation, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he berates himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You pushed too hard too fast and opened your stupid mouth again. Now you’ve triggered Anti-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anti’s eyes are his again. Why doesn’t he switch them both to green? But they represent him pretty well. Scattered, ready to switch at a moment’s notice, deceiving, bright, gorgeous-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m mad at him. Why am I mad at him? I lost my composure for what, seeing three other people at some point? Fuck, that was an overreaction even if he is mine. I was irritable and rash because of Wil and the comments and the egos-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, don’t you play it off like that, Darkiplier. You were mad because they assumed you and Anti were equals. And you hate that they’re right because you can’t control an equal. But you’ve never really had control over Anti. Stop kidding yourself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell happened in that meeting that got you so worked up?” Anti asks suddenly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t feel like answering. Anti waits for his reply for several minutes as they watch each other. In a spur of the moment, Dark reaches for his mind. Anti’s mind was concentrated </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>an intoxicating mixture of murder and planning and emotion. The most prevalent thought is about him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>-time he was this mad, furniture was thrown and set on fire.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the thoughts running under it, behind the present, recoil as they’re discovered. The glitch’s eyes widen as he jerks backwards, scrambling halfway across the room to get away from him. It doesn’t matter. Dark stares at him with the same expression. Hurt. Betrayed. Concerned. Anti’s feelings are buried deeper than anyone he’s ever met, but when uncovered they’re as cutting as his personality. Anti is two steps away from desperate and it’s not just with him. It’s closer to home than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’tchu </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever, ever do tha’ again!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Anti snarls at him, the knife glinting in his trembling grip. “Yeh don’t get to play around in my head, you motherfockin’ bastard!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s why you were so upset,” Dark says. His heartbeat thumps against his ribcage. He’s never heard Anti revert so hard into his lilt. “When Jack gets control, you suffer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t act like-!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Red haze creeps in his vision. “He’s trying to delete you.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If looks could kill, he’d be dead where he sits. Anti’s form is pixelating at the edges, a feat considering he’s stuck in his physical form until the next midnight. “What’s your fockin’ problem? The egos didn’t kiss enough ass tonight? Ya finally realize you’re not as important as you think you are?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he doesn’t defuse it now, they most certainly will kill each other. The anger is back, roiling in his veins like a second skin. Jack is trying to erase Anti. The egos are replacing him. They want to kill his glitch by locking him up and letting him slowly waste away. And not only is his glitch spitting mad at him for knowing any of that, but he also tried to leave Dark. Make him unimportant and useless, able to be disposed of after putting up with him for so long. Like his mentality centers around taking Dark down with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark’s mad at himself for caring about any of it. He’s furious that despite knowing that fact, he still cares. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At least my egos know their place-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, you don’t seem very important to anyone-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re my fucking problem-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of the responses that run through his head hit the air. Instead comes out a cruel and risky jab. “If I didn’t care about you no one would.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re wrong.” Anti’s words are empty. They both know he’s lying. Dark can see it in the protective hunch in his shoulders, the cold jut of his chin because he’s too damn proud to bow his head or look away in defeat. His resilience was what he fell for in the first place. Dark didn’t need something else to break, he needed something to test him back. And while Anti is the most likely being to kill him, at least he can count on that. This is the closest Dark’s come to breaking him. He should, he really should. Anti is too close and knows too much and has murder in his eyes. The fun is gone, and so is his welcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With an annoyingly timed mental nudge, Mark reminds him of their agreement. The human replays it with a desperate pitch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No killing. No hurting Jack.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck Jack and all he loved, honestly. And while the going’s good, fuck Mark too. It’s Dark’s decision to make, Dark’s turn with the body. He has control. The boy becomes nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifts forward, Anti tracing his every move with limbs tight like a snake coiled for attack. Dark slows down, catching and holding blue and green with brown. He’s tired of entertaining Anti’s games. It’s his turn. Power move, extremely risky but worth it if it works; turn it all on Anti. The glitch must have the same struggle; he saw it in his thoughts. It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt like a bitch because he won’t go without a fight and he’s sharp as his blade to cut him with. But if it works, it’ll be worth it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps into range. “We both know I’m right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti flicks a warning cut on his arm. “Back off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark looms closer. “It scares you I’m all you have left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another cut, deeper this time, to the chest. “I said back off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark takes another step into his space, catching his wrist when the blade rises once more. Cold metal, barely restrained, grazes his jaw. Anti’s other hand is up in front of his face, expecting a hit. He waits. The hesitation leads sharp eyes to peer around his fingers at him. With measured deliberateness, Dark raises his own hand, lacing their fingers together before lowering them both so he can look at Anti unobstructed. The arm wielding the knife stops pushing. Dark forces it forwards, blade rigid against the side of his own neck. One hand holding. One hand poised to kill. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on then,” he says. Each word drops like a weight in the quiet. Other than his own heart, he can hear Anti’s light breathing, Chica’s nails on the floor downstairs, intermittent traffic passing by. Impatience sucks his veins dry. If he’s going to be killed, he’d rather not wait around for it. And it would only be fitting to hold his biggest mistake as he dies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon he met in April wouldn't have hesitated. The demon he sees before him does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so determined to kill yourself?” Anti’s tone takes him by surprise, the calculated cadence leaden with actual confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this is Dark’s game, Anti a mere player. He saw a break in resilience and a glitch fading away. He saw scratches on walls and a dimming green glow. If he could kill Jack without harming Anti, he would solely for the arrogance Jack showed in threatening his demon. The rest - the loss, the anger, the vanished tactical advantages - would desecrate his corpse. Yet Anti never would have told him if he hadn’t reached into his thoughts. Nothing in the brief contact explained why he pushed Dark away. “Why are you determined to be alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Independent,” Anti snaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Semantics.” His grip tightens, crushing their fingers until his knuckles are white, nails leaving crescents on his wrist. “You know this won’t happen again. You want to be alone so badly, go ahead. Do it, Anti.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grip readjusts on the knife but his glare falters. “We’re allies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re obsessed. You’re insane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re stalling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want to destroy yourself so badly, look somewhere else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why should I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not giving you some easy way out of whatever bullshit angst you’ve surrounded yourself with.” Anti’s struggling now, trying to pull away. He used too much energy glitching earlier. Dark keeps him close, anger returning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve wanted to slash my throat ever since we met. Why don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killing you isn’t the very top of my to-do list, Dark. You’re not that important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark releases him, reeling back. That fucking hurt. He knows it’s not even a full lie. He knew that, somewhere in his subconscious, he wasn’t going to kill him. And he knows Anti, how he’d never budge a centimeter because he’s too proud, just like him. He expected to be shoved back, and he was. So why does he still allow it to get to him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not. Why would I be at the top of your list? You have fucking other people and sitting quiet under your human’s thumb to manage. Distracting yourself from your own helplessness needs your full attention.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too far. Anti bashes the knife handle across his cheek and glares coldly. His form shudders, but not because of pixels. Regret and rage battle in Dark’s mind. Had it been true? Yes. But had it been necessary? </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Knowing Me, Knowing You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shameless Mamma Mia lyric for this title. <br/>Smaller chapter for this end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The words shook Anti’s control enough to let the egos hear. They were messing around with Marvin’s magic kit and a bin when Dark’s insult cut in. Anti could feel everyone look at him. It was suffocating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Not a word, </em>
  </b>
  <span>Anti threatens. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Not a single goddamn word from anyone. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t hurt him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jack says. At the same time, Jameson signs </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are not helpless </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Jackieboy rolls his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>I said not a word. </em>
  </b>
  <span>He feels a shudder go through him, unfamiliar with the pain in his chest. His confusion reaches the others.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s called crying, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jack answers with a strange expression. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re human right now. Your body wants to cry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Fuck that. </em>
  </b>
  <span>He whacks the handle across Dark’s stupid face. Everyone winces at the same time. A bruise instantly starts taking form on his cheek. He loves when Dark bleeds for him. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Well, </em>
  </b>
  <span>Anti thinks cheekily. </span>
  <b>
    <em>He wants to be a couple so bad. I'll make us match! </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anti! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sean shouts, but it's too late. The first cut is already welling blood on Dark’s throat. The second is fresh on his cheek when he finally reacts, crowding him and reaching for the blade. They both snarl, Anti managing to slice a third wound before strong hands shoved his wrists against the wall, sending several photo frames crashing to the floor. Fingers dig into his arm, cutting off his circulation. He used too much energy to glitch earlier. He should’ve just stabbed him then and been done with it while he had the advantage. Dark squeezes harder, making Anti cry out. Jack’s body is such a bitch when it comes to pain. The blade clatters on hardwood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s why you’re supposed to AVOID gettin’ hurt!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>You are nothing to me right now. </em>
  </b>
  <span>His anger sends all of the egos to the recesses, rendering them unable to see or speak to him. The body, however soft and weak it may be, is his now. Currently, Dark wrestles it against the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re such a fucking child,” Dark sneers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ruin everything you touch,” Anti hisses back. It shuts him up, so he keeps going. “You want to be so on top, so in control, but you never are! </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>saved your ass. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>decide when we meet up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who remembers his fucking place while you’re off in your own little fantasies. What did you think we were, Dark? What did you see me as? Did you honestly expect I’d drop everything and center my world around you and your pleasures? Huh? You want to talk about helplessness, look in a goddamn mirror. What’ve you done with your human lately, except let him playact your entire backstory like a fucking soap opera? And you’re jealous of me lookin’ elsewhere, meanwhile you’re waiting by the phone like a lovesick animal with a sex addiction. Sorry I’m not some doey-eyed submissive hanging on your every word. Welcome to real life!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right Anti,” Dark mocks. “After all, I’m the one who calls when I want to get fucked. I’m the one who keeps everything to himself and lets my human keep me prisoner. I pop into videos for attention. I’m the calculating one, but I have to have someone else cover up for me because I leave a fucking mess behind. Oh wait, sorry, I must have been reading your thoughts again. My mistake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck is your </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re giving up!” Dark stops fighting him, pinning him in place with a furious and betrayed look. The blood is starting to clot in his cuts, finally stopping the flow. Coupled with Mark’s complexion, it’s the most color Anti’s ever seen on Dark. “Damn you, Anti, you’re giving up and you’re the only one I trust. Don’t play me off either, I know what’s going on in your head. We both got too close and now we have to deal with it, so instead you’re letting him erase you before you have to face it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t that be convenient for you if that were true?” Anti lowered his tone to biting. “I don’t need you to save me, Dark. I don’t need you and it kills you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark releases his grip. He scrubs a hand through his hair and shifts back into the cold, disconnected demeanor that echoes what he used to be, unaffected by anyone else. Then he snatches one of the stray sweatshirts laying around and stalks out of the room, door slamming behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Good. Fuck him. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anti slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, knees to his chest. He hoped to alleviate the shudder in his chest but it doesn’t. It wracks through him until it shakes moisture from his eyes and nose. He’s alone, just like he wanted. No egos, no Dark, no Jack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is the first time, he thinks idly, that he’s cried since he was made. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this is the middle sequel, which means ugh. I do promise part 4 resolves at least the major fight of this work, so bear with me. They had to fight to make up.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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